


A Christmas Tail

by HeyMurphy



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Allergies, M/M, Swearing, pretty wholesome as far as magnus content goes hahaha, um I think that's it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: Down-on-his-luck former rock star Magnus Hammersmith has a problem: his manager is pressuring him to "sell out" with a Christmas album! Okay he actually has TWO problems: a stray cat keeps getting into his house and he's allergic. Wait, no, he has THREE problems: the guy who runs the cat rescue is really, really cute and really, really out of money. What's a guy to do!
Relationships: Magnus Hammersmith/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	A Christmas Tail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dethmas prompt for the 22nd, Metalocalypse but it's a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie kjdfgkd I'm juuuuuuuuust a bit late on this ;D but it got away from me. Even now, this is really just sort of a "proof of concept". I might come back and expound on it later, who know, but for right now I think we all know how the story's gonna end up playing out, so I was content ending it where I did.

“Look, ah,” his manager said over speakerphone, “all I’m saying is you need to get this album out sooner rather than later, all right?”

Magnus fiddled with the strings of his guitar and leaned back on the sofa to put his socked feet up on the coffee table. “All right, all right. I heard ya the last ten fucking times. You’re on my ass worse than my ex-wife.”

“Someone has to be. Those, ah. Those royalty checks are getting slimmer each month, Magnus, and your investments aren’t exactly growing the way we predicted. If you don’t have some sort of additional income by the end of the year, you’re going to be facing some difficulties.”

He took a slow sip off his beer. “Such as?”

“Such as not being able to afford a manager, for one.”

“Aw, c’mon, Chuck.”

“I mean it. I won’t take another pay cut. I have my family to think of.”

“Family?” Magnus chuckled and strummed a few casual chords. “It’s just you and that drummer of yours, last I heard.”

“And the cats.”

“The cats.” Magnus soured on the word and peered around the room suspiciously. “Hey, speaking of, did I tell you about the cat that keeps getting in here?”

On the other end of the call, his manager sighed. “No, Magnus. That sounds, ah, quite thrilling, but I have other calls to make this morning.”

“Fiiiiine.” The guy never wanted to chit-chat.

“I mean it, though. Work on the album. How close are you to finishing?”

“Uhh…” Magnus scratched at his curls with the mouth of his beer bottle. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

“ _Magnus._ ”

“I’ll have _something_ by the end of the year. I will.”

“We’re nearly finished with November.”

“I _know_. It’s just, y’know...it’s slow-going. I haven’t exactly been all that inspired lately.”

“Money isn’t inspiring?”

“God damn, you _really_ sound like Rebecca. Get your heels off my nuts, Chuck.”

His manager was silent for a moment. “...you know what I’m going to suggest to you.”

“ _No_.”

“Would you at least promise me you’ll consider it?”

“ _No!_ And I don’t care if Dee Snider’s fucking done it, okay? Quit bringing it up.”

“Christmas albums do _very_ well, Magnus. It’s guaranteed money. And your window of opportunity is closing. I can get some session guys together in under a day, just say the word.”

“I’m not _that_ desperate for cash.”

Again, his manager went quiet on the line, this time long enough for Magnus to feel a twinge of worry stab at his gut.

“Chuck? I’m not _that_ desperate, right?”

“Just consider it. That’s all I’ll say. We’ll, ah. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The phone lit up to signal that his manager had actually ended the call, and Magnus put his legs down and grumbled as he drained the last of his beer. He got up to set his Les Paul in a stand and went to the kitchen for another drink. Something stronger. It was going to be that kind of day.

After pouring himself a couple fingers of whiskey, something brushed against his bare calf and nearly sent him jumping out of his socks.

There, at his feet. The fucking _cat_ again.

“Ohhh, you _bastard!_ ” 

He dove to grab it but it raced off further into his house, a sprinting shadow of sleek black fur. This was the third time this week! How was it even getting in? He’d already walked the snowy perimeter of his house twice looking for holes large enough for a cat to wriggle through and came up with nothing. All the windows and doors were closed. Was it the roof maybe?

Racing from room to room, Magnus spotted it at last in his bedroom, pawing at his pillow and nestling in like a loaf as if it owned the place. “Oh no you don’t, buster. C’mere.” His long legs carried him to the bed faster than the cat could dart away, and he grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and clutched it tight so it couldn’t escape. “I dunno what your fucking deal is, cat, but you’re _not_ welcome here.”

The cat made unhappy noises all the way to the front door, and Magnus opened it just wide enough to drop the thing on the welcome mat before slamming it again in a gust of cold air. He shook in his boxer shorts and had a feeling he hadn’t seen the last of it.

Magnus returned to the kitchen for his whiskey and settled in his office where he had recording equipment gathering dust. He hadn’t exactly been truthful with his manager. Things weren’t slow-going. They weren’t _going_ at all. The songs he had were half-baked at best: scribbles of lyrics on take-out napkins and a few lines of melody he’d sung into his phone here and there while driving. He was beginning to fear what most people had known since his last commercial failure four years prior: Magnus Hammersmith had nothing left worth saying.

He drank his whiskey and sniffled and scrunched his face as heat prickled in his eyes. Fuck. Should’ve washed up and swapped out his t-shirt. 

Of all the animals to get in his house, it just _had_ to be a cat. Even a skunk would be better. Wasn’t allergic to skunks.

He sneezed into his hands and barked a few choice words, reaching blindly with damp eyes for something to mop himself up with. Only once he finished did he realize he’d just ruined half the lyrics to a song tentatively titled “Here If You Need Me”.

“...for fuck’s sake.” 

But what did it matter, really? Magnus balled it in his fist and aimed for the trash can just a few feet away. It bounced off the rim, landing lamely on the carpet, and he sagged back in the chair and felt sorry for himself until another sneeze forced him up and into the shower.

Stupid goddamn cat.

Revenge was coming.

* * *

Revenge came early that evening in the unlikely form of an enthusiastic animal control officer wearing ill-fitting khakis and a gap-toothed smile.

Magnus followed him through the yard as the man lay a couple cage traps on the property. “Scho, y’schee,” the officer said, “it’sch really very humane. The cat goesch in to get the food, the trap door closchesch behind ‘em, they can’t get out. That’sch when you call usch back and we’ll schwing by and pick ‘em up.”

The cage trap looked menacing, a skeletal thing of old metal, worn and battered from the claws and teeth of countless other animals. As glad as Magnus was at the prospect of being rid of the cat, the sight gave him a bit of a shiver. The cat wasn’t wild. It had clearly been someone’s pet in the past. But he couldn’t have the dumb thing in his house, and it had left him no other choice.

“And it doesn’t hurt at all?” he found himself saying.

“Oh no, not at all!” the officer assured him. “I got one more in the truck I’ll schet up for ya, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Thanks, man.”

The trap was set in the bushes below the bedroom window, though Magnus still couldn’t fathom how the cat was getting in. He gathered his coat closer against the cold and peered up at the roof, wondering if that shouldn’t be his next call. Last thing he needed was holes in the roof when it was snowing. 

But god, then he’d have to pay a roofer.

He chewed at his thumbnail.

 _“Christmas albums do_ very _well, Magnus.”_

Job finished, the officer swiped his hands against his pant legs and grinned up at him. “All right, that’sch the lascht of ‘em.”

“I appreciate the help. Guess I’ll give you a ring if I catch anything.”

“And here’sch hoping you do.” They shook hands, and then the officer’s grin turned funny. “And hey, I know thisch isch kinda unprofesschional of me, but…”

Magnus signed the back of one of the report sheets the man held up for him, addressing it to “William” as per the badge on his chest. It wasn’t all that often anymore when someone stopped him for a photo or an autograph. Felt kinda nice to still get noticed like this, especially from the younger crowd.

“Thisch isch great,” the officer said, reading it over. “My grandma’sch big fan, y’schee.”

 _Oh_. A little dagger in Magnus’ heart. He winced through another smile and sent the man on his merry fucking way.

He trudged inside, hung his coat up, made some dinner. Or, well. He made _food_ , in any case. He stood at the back window of the living room, eating straight from his pot of chili, surveying the backyard. When would he know if the traps worked? Would he hear it shut? It was really fucking cold out there, too. If the cat found its way into any of them, he hoped it would be the one insulated by the bushes.

Leaving the pot in the sink to deal with later, Magnus stripped down to his underclothes and went to bed, nuzzling his face into the pillow as he wriggled to get comfortable. As he drifted off, a memory returned to him from earlier that day: the memory of a strange black cat making itself at home in his bed. But by that point he’d drifted too deep, and he slept and dreamt his attic was full of kittens.

* * *

_CLANK!_

Magnus snapped awake, sitting up in a rush. Oh shit, his head was _throbbing_. What the hell? The dull light of morning came through the blinds and he was _certain_ he’d just heard metal clang against metal outside his window. Was it over already?

He climbed out of bed, intent on checking the traps, but swooned into the nightstand and just about knocked the lamp over. Felt like the bridge of his nose had been smashed in with a brick and driven into his brain.

The pillow...fuck, how could he have forgotten? No time to fuss with it now.

Clothes and a bathrobe were thrown on in a hurry and he sniffled and scrubbed at itchy eyes as he staggered through the house. Out in the yard, in the silence of early morning, he heard the low wailing by the bedroom window right away and knew his little hunt had been successful.

“Well, well, well,” he said, squaring up to the cage with hands on hips, “look what we have here.” He didn’t sound quite as menacing as he wanted to, what with the inability to breathe through his nose and all, but he hoped his face conveyed the appropriate fervor. A black shape, smaller than he recalled, huddled towards the back of the cage when he stooped to look. That was definitely the cat.

Nothing to do now but call animal control, he supposed. He went back in, started some coffee, and blew his nose before calling so maybe he’d be mostly understandable.

He got a young lady, Rachel, on the phone and explained the situation to her, and she promised another officer would be by between noon and three to get the cat. Noon was still a long ways off, though. And it really was awfully cold out there.

“And there’s no way they can get here sooner? This is Magnus? Magnus Hammersmith?”

“Calls are handled in the order they’re received, sir, I apologize.”

“Oh, uh...okay, fair enough.” Throwing his name around didn’t really do much anymore, but it had been worth a shot. Maybe _her_ fucking grandma liked his music too.

“Anything else I can help you with this morning?”

Magnus stirred some non-dairy creamer into his coffee. “What’re they gonna do with the cat once it’s picked up?”

“Oh, the animal will be delivered to the shelter and scanned for a chip to see if it has an owner.”

“And if it doesn’t? It’ll get adopted?”

The receptionist faltered. “Well, they try their best to make sure that happens.”

Magnus let go of the spoon and it clinked against the mug. “Try? What does that mean, they try?”

“Sir, you should really contact the shelter if you’d like more information about their euthanasia policy.”

“ _Euthanasia_ —?” He broke out in a sweat. “A-Actually, don’t send anyone for the cat. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” 

“But sir—” 

Magnus hung up the phone in a hurry and stood from the table.

In ten minutes he’d disarmed the other traps and hefted the full cat cage indoors, setting it down at his feet by the desk when he booted up his computer. He peered down at the black cat. It had stopped meowing the moment they got in from the cold, and it now lay in a coal-like lump, yellow eyes huge.

“Don’t gimme that look. I’m not the bad guy here, all right? I’m not a fucking...fucking _cat murderer_. I don’t want you dead, I want you gone. There’s a difference.”

The cat just continued to stare.

Sniffling and swiping at his nose, he searched online for someplace else to take the damn thing. Some places couldn’t promise no-kill. Other places were so full they weren’t even accepting drop-offs. A few pages deep into the search results, though, he saw a listing for a Really Cool Cats Rescue and clicked it out of desperation.

Rainbows barfed across the screen and Magnus reared back on instinct. Between cat gifs and glitter letters, a video began to autoplay.

“Hellos!” A young man sat cross-legged in the middle of a room filled with cats and carpet-covered climbing structures, smiling joyfully at the camera through some silly hipster mustache, his brown hair braided long over his shoulder. “Thanks for comins to sees my kitty cats! My name’s Toki Wartooth! And this ams Jellybeans, and this ams Noodles, and this ams Fjörgyn—”

Magnus sneezed, cursed at the cat, and paused the video so he could click around on the eye-searing website without annoyance. If the information was accurate, this guy’s rescue was still taking in animals. Perfect. Okay. All he needed to know.

He took down the address, got up to dress himself properly for the cold, and grabbed the cage.

“All right, buster, let’s get this over with.”

* * *

“I _know_ already! Jesus Christ!” Magnus snapped at the cat for the fiftieth time when it howled in protest from its cage. He’d driven over with the windows down to hopefully keep his damage to a minimum, and by the time he parked at the little homey building his teeth were chattering but his eyes had thankfully stopped watering. He fussed with himself in the flip-down mirror for a second before heading in just to make sure he didn’t look too rough.

A bell over the door chimed at his arrival, but there was no one at the front counter to greet him. The air inside was warm and had a distinct _animal_ smell that immediately went to his head, and the lobby was full of potted plants and flowers and colorful framed artwork of, naturally, cats. He set the cage up on the counter and looked around for a moment, frowning.

“Hey, anyone here? Um. Hello?”

A door somewhere farther inside opened and closed, and the guy from the video wandered to the front. He noticed Magnus standing there and startled a bit, blue eyes soft and round, and then his face blossomed into a wide and welcoming smile. His hair was pinned up in a mess of a bun, and he wore a yellow sweater under a pair of overalls.

“Oh, wowee! Sorries, didn’ts sees you there. Hi, I’ms Toki Wartooth.” 

They shook hands and Magnus flinched at the power in his grip, words catching in his throat. He’d barely paid attention to the video on the website, but seeing the man in person...

“Uh! Hi, Magnus Hammersmith, good to meet you, uh...” He tossed his head a bit to clear it, but it did no good. A sensation like dry cotton scratched against the backs of his eyes and made his face itch. “I’ve...sorta got this stray cat. Keeps getting into my house. Was hoping you could take it.”

The guy—Toki?—took one look at the black cat in the cage and frowned and said, “Ohh, I wish you hads calls. I can’ts takes any more kitty cats.”

“ _Really?_ ” Frustration leaked too strongly into his voice and he tried to dial it back before he spoke again. “Sorry, it’s just...your website didn’t say you weren’t—”

“My websites hasn’ts been updated in months,” Toki told him with a deep sigh. “I can’ts takes any cats ‘cause I’ms havins to shut down after Christmas.”

“Shut down?”

“Mm-hm. Just...rans out of moneys. Happens lotsa times with rescues. Gettins more and mores expenskive to operates a business in this town.” Toki poked his fingers into the cage to scratch gently behind the cat’s ear. “Sorries you drives all this way for bads news.”

Magnus couldn’t believe his fucking luck. “This was the _one_ decent place I found. There’s really nothing you can do? You can’t take him home with you or something?”

The cat leaned his head into Toki’s fingers and flopped over and began to purr, and a very different sort of smile appeared on the man’s face, serene and gentle. Completely at peace. Magnus watched, his aching eyes lingering on him. Even in spite of the hipster facial hair, there was something (dare he say) a little charming about this guy. He suddenly couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if all the _cat_ in the building was catching up to him.

Toki sighed again. “My homes ams already ats the legal limits for pets. Can’ts gets in trouble for that if I wants to keeps workins with animals.” He looked to Magnus with what could only be described as a _pout_. “And you can’ts keeps the kitty? Not evens fors a little while?”

“No.”

Toki just kept pouting, and unfortunately he was very, very good at it.

“Hey, no, all right? I’m allergic.” And as if to punctuate himself, he sneezed suddenly into cupped hands. Toki giggled and went to give him a tissue from a box on the counter, but Magnus didn’t just stop with one. By the third, no, the _fourth_ , Toki was full-on laughing and just gave him the whole box. “...thanks.” Magnus nursed his traitorous nose and his weepy eyes, feeling like a dumbass.

“Wowee, you amn’ts kidding. Hold on, I mights haves something you can takes. Don’ts leaves!” 

In a wet smudge of yellow, blue, and brown, Toki disappeared down a hallway and left Magnus alone in the lobby. 

Well, not _alone_. 

He dried his eyes with a crumpled tissue and sniffled and glared at the cat. “Just had to be fucking difficult, huh. Just had to get me into this mess when I’ve got other shit on my plate. God, if Chuck knew I was worrying about some stupid cat instead of my album I’m pretty sure I’d never hear the end of it.” The cat seemed to glare back at him from its reclined position within the cage, and then it had the nerve to _yawn_ at him with a sharp flash of teeth. “What, you think this is a joke or something? ‘Cause I’ve got news for you, buster, I’m pretty damn close to just letting you out in the parking lot and—”

“Ams that his name?”

Magnus jumped. He hadn’t realized Toki made it back already. “H-Huh?”

“You calleds him Buster.” Those huge blue eyes swam in his head. “Oh, you names him already! How sweets! Does this means you ams gonna keeps him after all?”

“No, I—” No chance to argue. Magnus sneezed again and tore a few more tissues from the box as he swore under his breath. Whatever happened needed to happen fast so he could get the fuck out and back into the fresh air. Once he managed to regain some control over himself, he tried to tell Toki that he’d just misheard, but the guy was still starry-eyed and smiling at him, and god _damnit_ Magnus couldn’t bring himself to wipe that smile off his (very handsome) face. “Okay, yes. Fine. His name is Buster, why not. I guess I can...look after him for a day or two until one of the no-kill shelters has room.”

Toki erupted in absolute glee, invading Magnus’ personal space to clutch at his arm. “You’s a goods man to looks after a poor homeless cat evens though you ams allergics! A goods, goods man, Mr. Hammersmith!”

“Oh, uh…” Now Magnus knew for sure he was blushing. “It’s nothing, really…”

“And heres, I finds this for you.” Reaching into his overall pocket, Toki produced a box and rattled the blister packs inside. “One of my employees was allergics, too, and he lefts this when I hads to lets him go.” A shadow of sudden sadness passed over his face, but then a second later he was back to grinning, and he handed the box to Magnus.

“I appreciate it, man.”

Toki squeezed him at the elbow again. “Since you’s gonna takes care of Buster, how abouts I gives you a few supplies?”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Supplies…?”

“Yeah! You gonna needs a litter box. Ands litter, of course.” Toki started counting on his fingers. “Foods. Treats. A brush. Oh, and toys! Mights have a couple extra toys. Lets go sees!”

Toys! _Great!_ Feeling like maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew, and definitely feeling another sneeze sneaking up on him, Magnus reluctantly allowed Toki to drag him even deeper into the building.

* * *

And just like that, Magnus Hammersmith had a cat. _Temporarily_ had a cat, he told himself. 

For the next couple days he called the no-kill shelters on and off, trying to find a place for _Buster_ to go. The allergy meds the rescue owner had given him worked up to a point, but he found himself having to take an extra shower or two in the afternoons and evenings, and he was going through too many changes of clothes. The pills also kicked his ass more than he expected, and by the time he’d popped a few, showered, had breakfast, and sat down with his guitar to work, his mind was muddled like a good cocktail.

Buster seemed more than happy to make himself at home. Little bastard. Magnus’ initial plan had been to keep him closed off in one room to minimize his effect, but he’d yowled like crazy all through that first evening and all through the night, and finally Magnus gave in.

By the third day he was carrying tissue boxes around the house with him and was still having no luck with the shelters (or with his album). He kept catching himself fiddling with his wallet, flipping it open and shut, his thumb flicking at the rescue owner’s card. _Toki Wartooth._ Should he call? Maybe the guy could help in some additional way. At the very least, he was itching to talk to someone else besides his manager, who hadn’t quit riding his ass about selling out and recording fucking Christmas songs. Like a hack. Like a has-been.

In the late afternoon, his cell rang and showed a number he almost recognized. Thinking it might be someone able to take a cat, though, he answered.

“This is Magnus Hammersmith.”

“Oh, Mr. Hammersmith! So glads I gots you!”

“Toki,” Magnus said in surprise, heat rising up his neck when he heard the relief in his own voice. “Hey, man, how’re you?”

“Ams pretty goods.” Toki laughed and his tone turned sympathetic. “You sounds real stuffeds up. Guess that answers my first questions.”

Magnus sniffled to clear his head but of course it didn’t work. “Yeah, yeah...I still have the cat. And it’s...not as bad as it could be. Thanks to you.” The heat flooded into his face and warmed his cheeks, and he shifted the phone away from him to clear his throat. Buster must’ve been nearby, that’s all this was. “Uh, what can I do for you?”

“Well,” Toki sighed into the phone, “gots a rescue group up north whats agreeds to take the cats I gots left, and they’s comins the day after Christmas, sos just beens cleanins out the place and tidyins up. I finds these food dishes withs music notes, and I remembers your business card saids you’s a musician, and thoughts maybe I could swings by and…”

“Oh, well, I mean, I’ve just been using a couple old cereal bowls…” 

“Oh. R-Rights…”

Wait. _Wait_.

“I mean! Uh! No, no, I’ll take ‘em.”

A gasp on the line. “Reallies? Whens would be a goods time?”

Magnus stood in the middle of his office and stared at the guitar he hadn’t touched all day. “You busy now?”

* * *

“Wowee!” Toki walked slowly along the wall in the living room, peering at framed photos of past gigs and musicians met. “Kinda embarrasseds now. Didn’ts realize you was so famous. Ams this you withs Stevie Ray Vaughns?”

Mug of freshly-brewed coffee in each hand, Magnus met him by the picture and nodded. “Yup, we opened for him in ‘89. Just a buncha punk kids back then. Here—no sugar, almond creamer. You’re lucky I can’t do dairy.”

“Guess I ams. Thanks.” Toki cradled the mug close to his chest, still looking frost-bitten around the edges from the snowy bike ride over. He pursed his lips to blow steam from the surface, the shorter hairs of his mustache bristling like whiskers, and Magnus despaired at how cute he found it. He didn’t think these young, athletic, health-conscious hipsters were his type, but here he was, unable to take his eyes off the guy. 

How many people had he been with in the years since Rebecca left him? There was that blond that played with Smugly Dismissed, and that pothead who tried to sign him up for satellite TV...

God, was that really it? Ouch.

Not that Toki would even be interested, but a man could entertain thoughts.

They wandered the house together, Buster weaving between their legs as Magnus led Toki on a tour of sorts. He’d taken an extra dose of medicine in an effort to keep himself put together, and it was working okay, but he was tiring quickly, hence the coffee (which had the additional benefit of keeping his guest around a little longer once he’d dropped off the bowls).

“And this is where the magic happens on occasion,” Magnus said, letting him into the office full of recording equipment and instruments. Toki’s eyes went big and he whistled, impressed.

“What kinda stuffs you workins on right now?” he asked, gravitating to the massive keyboard by the desk. “Or ams it secrets?”

“Well—” Magnus started, then paused and wondered why he’d been about to lie. “Honestly, man? Not much right now.”

Toki smiled. “Seems like you’ve dones a lot in your life. Ams good to takes a break sometimes.”

Magnus sipped at his coffee, frowning to himself. A break sure was a nice way to think about it.

Sturdy yet delicate fingers drifted over the keys but didn’t press, just teased, and Toki made a curious noise. “Ams it a silly question if I asks you to play one of your songs for me? Bet I knows one.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t like my stuff,” Magnus said. “I tend to do poorly with the under-30 crowd.” 

Toki giggled and eyed him over the rim of his mug as he took a drink. “Well then now _you’s_ in luck. Amn’ts under 30.” 

Magnus swallowed. An audience of twenty thousand people made him feel invincible but a single look from a vegan cat lover who could probably bench press him had his knees shaking.

They returned to the living room and he got out his latest solo record and set it up to play. Toki settled cross-legged into the couch with his coffee, Buster climbing into his lap. It was a sight, really. Magnus couldn’t help the strange, warm feeling that draped over him like a familiar blanket as he sat down beside them, and he kept having to remind himself that Toki was just a stranger (and this cat definitely was _not_ staying).

After listening intently to a few songs, Toki shifted on the couch to face him better, scratching Buster under the chin. “Dids you always know?”

“Hm?”

“That you wanteds to makes music?”

“Uh.” He’d never really thought about it before. Writing music came as naturally to him as breathing once upon a time. Music had always just been there. “Yeah, there was never really a plan B, I suppose. Wouldn’t wanna be doing anything else, that’s for damn sure.”

The blues of Toki’s eyes shone bright. “That’s how Toki feels, too. Didn’ts have friends as a kid, but there was always cats around. Wanted to grows up and haves a place where they woulds be safe and loved, likes a way to gives back to them. Was my dream.” The light ebbed as he continued to speak, his smile dimming. “But...amn’ts sure dreams come true twice.”

Magnus watched him sadly as his song “Without Me” faded out, and when the dreary opening bars to “My Apologies” kicked in, Toki’s eyebrows pinched together.

“Mr. Hammersmith?”

“You can just call me Magnus at this point, man. What’s up?”

“Don’ts takes this the wrong way, Magnus, but...your musics ams really depressings.”

“Oh, uh.” He hadn’t really considered that when he put it on, but it was true. That’s what he got for writing a record mid-divorce. “Yeah, don’t worry, no one else really liked this album either.”

“Hey, didn’ts say I didn’ts likes it. Ams just...hards to listens to...right now.”

“I’ve got other stuff,” Magnus said, setting down his coffee to shut off the record and rifle through his vinyl collection. “Obviously you’re not in a blues mood. What sorta genres you like?”

A faint giggle came from the couch and Magnus turned to see Toki smiling again. “Gots any EDM?” 

Magnus stared at him, squinting. 

“That a drug?”

Toki laughed harder. “No, no, ams _music_. What abouts chillwave?”

“...no?”

“Blackgaze?”

“What the hell is blackgaze?”

“Ams blacks metal and shoegaze puts together.”

Toki’s laughter was contagious and Magnus started a little panicked giggling of his own. “Okay, what’s _shoegaze?_ ”

“Ams basicallies just dream pop.”

“ _Dream_ pop?!”

Toki pulled out his phone without disrupting Buster. “Comes here, sits. Toki plays some for you.”

* * *

“Magnus.”

He woke with a jerk. He was on the couch and it was pitch black through the windows and silent in the living room aside from Toki getting his attention. A warm hand lay on his knee. Their faces were close.

“Magnus, you fallins asleep. And ams pretty lates now. I should go.”

“Oh…” Magnus sniffled, feeling wholly done in by the allergy medicine. He scrubbed his knuckles across his eyes and his nose and stretched. How long had he been sitting there on the couch within mere feet of Buster? “Sure, sorry about that. Just...past my bedtime, I guess.”

He walked Toki to the door where the guy started putting his shoes back on. 

“Thanks again for the bowls. And thanks for…” _Thanks for the company_ , is what he wanted to say. “Thanks for the music lesson. I’m an old dog, y’know. Keeping up with all the new tricks is hard.”

Toki sighed a breath through his nose and shook his head. “Oh, Magnus. You amn’ts _that_ old.” And he put a hand on his shoulder, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. The mustache tickled, but Magnus didn’t mind it. “Thanks for the coffees. And for sharins your songs with me.”

For some reason, in that exact moment, Magnus felt like crying, and it wasn’t just the allergies making his eyes water. He wanted to take Toki’s face in his hands and kiss him on his soft mouth. Wanted to invite him to spend the night. Surely biking in the dark wasn’t safe. 

But Toki already had his hand on the door handle. “Amn’ts sure when I’ms gonna be free, what withs the rescue closings and everythings. But...maybe we hangs out again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Magnus said through the lovesick haze in his head. “I’d like that.”

Toki smiled. “Oh, and Magnus?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Buster likes you. And I think pinks is your color.” He raised his hand and gently pressed in the tip of Magnus’ irritated nose. “Boop.”

And with that he waved, turned, and slipped out into the night.

Closing the door in slow-motion, Magnus rested his forehead against the cool wood. Buster meowed at his feet.

“I know,” Magnus said, touching his nose where Toki had poked him. “I know, I’m gonna miss him, too.”

Venting his feelings to the cat. That couldn’t be a good development. He was _not_ becoming a lonely old cat person.

He put the empty mugs in the sink and dragged his ass to bed, and Buster followed him to curl up by his calf. Probably wasn’t the wisest idea to let him stay there, but Magnus couldn’t bring himself to kick him off.

Instead of sleeping right away, his mind wandered over the events of the evening, hoping he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself (aside from dozing on the couch). But instead of recalling his own words, he found himself dwelling on Toki’s.

_“Was my dream.”_

Magnus put a hand to his chest where an ache had wedged itself in between his ribs. The poor guy cared _so_ much about those damn cats, and he was really trying to keep a brave face on, but it was obviously wrecking him up.

Suddenly, another voice slithered into his head.

_“Christmas albums do very well, Magnus. It’s guaranteed money.”_

Guaranteed money.

His heart began to race.

Guaranteed money!

Bolting up and waking Buster, he fumbled for his phone and rushed to dial the right number. “C’mon, pick up...pick up the goddamn phone.”

A tired voice came through on the other end. “Magnus, do you have any idea how late it is?”

“Chuck, did you mean what you said about getting session guys together in a day?”

The line rustled as his manager seemed to wake all the way and get out of bed. “I can find their contact information right now and call first thing in the morning. I take it you’ve changed your mind?”

“I have.” Magnus gripped the bedsheets in a determined fist. “You heard it here first: Magnus Hammersmith is doing a motherfucking Christmas album.”

“That’s such a relief to hear, honestly, you have no idea how—”

“For _charity_.”

“For—for _what?_ Magnus, what on earth are you—”

“The cat rescue, Chuck! I have to _save_ it.”

“The one you went to the other day? I don’t—you’re not making any sense. Are you drunk?”

“No I’m not _drunk._ I...I think I’m in _love._ ”

His manager groaned. “Oh no.”


End file.
